


minute by minute

by vivelapluto



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, SKAM (France)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One-Shot, Skam France - Freeform, enjoltaire - Freeform, he's just a gay disaster okay, pining!enj, skam france enjoltaire au, skamfr!au, someone help enj lmao, they both are but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivelapluto/pseuds/vivelapluto
Summary: piano melodies that were almost forgotten, or enjolras, who needs some beers and owes jehan a favor, and grantaire, who of course happens to have some





	minute by minute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oddlyqueer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddlyqueer/gifts).



Enjolras was sitting on the bench just outside the science building, wondering how on Earth he’d gotten himself into this mess. 

_ Courfeyrac: ur bringing the beers for tonight, right enj? _

And like an idiot, without thinking, because of course he still owed them for the disaster that had been last week’s party, Enjolras had replied  _ sure,  _ without realizing the implications of that message

Those implications being that he had to be at Jehan’s in a little over an hour, and he had no money and no beers.

He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he released it all in a frustrated huff, burying his face in his hands and dragging his fingers through his hair.

“You okay?” said a voice from beside him. 

Enjolras felt the bench shift slightly as the person sat down.

“Enjolras?”

_ Fuck. _

As if this day could get any worse.

He knew that voice all too well. So when he finally looked up—eyes quickly narrowing into a glare to hide that little hitch where his breath had caught because  _ how  _ did Grantaire always manage to do that to him?—he couldn’t hide his slightly desolate expression. “Yes, I’m fine.” 

Grantaire arched an eyebrow, clearly not believing him. “Um, if you say so. I was just checking in.”

His concern was equal parts endearing and infuriating. Enjolras appreciated that someone seemed to give a damn, but when that someone was the person who’d reduced him to a stuttering fool in the common room earlier, well . . .

“I fucked up.” Enjolras suddenly found himself saying. “Last week, there was a party, and I was supposed to keep track of the—” He gestured with his hands, not wanting to say  _ pot  _ out loud in case any teachers were nearby. “—And then I lost it, Eponine found it, and now I owe all of them. I’m supposed to bring the drinks for tonight but I can’t and we’re all meeting in an hour and . . .” he trailed off. “Sorry. I’ve just. . . had a day. Or a week, really.”

He looked over at Grantaire, who had probably already tuned out and lit a cigarette at this point, but was surprised to see that he was listening intently, giving a thoughtful nod before he said, “I have some beers at my place, and my parents are out of town. If you want. . .”

“Oh, thank you,” Enjolras replied quickly, “but I could never.” 

Grantaire nodded. “Alright. But it’s really not a big deal, I live maybe a metro stop that way.” He pointed vaguely behind them. “And I have no use for them. It’s actually, uh, probably better that you take them so that I don’t end up drinking all of it.” He laughed after the last statement, though it was dry and more than a little forced. 

Enjolras tugged at the sleeve of his red sweater, contemplating. “You’re sure it’s not a big deal?” he asked, not looking up.

“Not at all,” Grantaire replied, and Enjolras could hear how his voice brightened slightly as he said it. Or maybe he was just imagining it.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said again, standing up. 

“Anytime,” Grantaire replied, his lazy and easygoing tone a stark contrast to Enjolras’s stilted, nervous words. 

He stood up as well, stretching his arms above his head—no, of course Enjolras wasn’t  _ staring— _ before turning towards the metro.

He was right, thankfully; his apartment was only a stop away. It was a quaint building lined with ivy, and though there was an intricate front door, Grantaire tugged his arm, pulling him towards a side door.

Enjolras felt a thrill run through him, like this was some sort of secret he was being let in on—

“Couldn’t find my other key,” Grantaire muttered under his breath before opening the door. “After you,” he said, smiling at Enjolras.

Stepping inside, he paused by the doorway, peering at the house. It was simple and sparsely furnished, just a couch and a piano and a few shelves. The walls were painted a soft beige, the only noticeably  _ Grantaire  _ thing being a few sketches pinned to them. Looking closer, he saw that they were drawings of animals, most common being a small raccoon, eyes wide behind his dark mask. 

“These are really good,” Enjolras commented.

Grantaire smiled at him. “Thanks. I like to draw myself as a—” he paused, looking down. “A raccoon. I think it suits me, you know? It’s how I see myself, almost like a spirit animal.”

“How would you draw me?” Enjolras spoke without thinking, curiosity getting the better of him.

Grantaire’s hazel gaze was intensely thoughtful as he tilted his head to one side, contemplating. Enjolras felt his face burn, probably a brilliant shade of crimson at this point. He shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“I do not know,” Grantaire said finally. “Yet,” he added, the simple word somehow holding more weight and meaning than Enjolras thought it could.

Desperate for a change of subject, he wandered over to the piano. “Do you mind if I—”

“You play?” Grantaire asked.

“I, um, took lessons when I was younger. It was forever ago, really, I don’t know if I’m very good. And I don’t know like, the cool songs like  _ Star Wars  _ or anything, I just know some of the classics and some other stuff . . .” He was rambling at this point, so much so he forgot that he’d been asked a question. “Yes. I play,” he finally stammered out.

Grantaire had sat down on the couch, his lanky figure lazily draped across the pillows. “Then by all means, play me something if you’d like. It doesn’t have to be  _ Star Wars.”  _

Enjolras forced out a laugh, tucking back a lock of blond hair before opening the piano, letting his fingers hover over the keys.

He had no clue what to play. And honestly, this was embarrassing; he should really just get the beers and go to Jehan’s before he was late. 

Still, he let his hands linger, playing a few notes.

Somewhere behind him, he heard the telltale click of a lighter, a few moments before the smell of smoke wafted past.

Enjolras turned around to look over his shoulder.

Grantaire smiled at him, taking a drag from his cigarette.

And he wasn’t sure why—maybe it was that  _ smile,  _ the way his eyes brightened and his face reddened slightly—but suddenly Enjolras was bent over the piano in deep concentration, trying to pull the notes and chords and melodies from where they’d been tucked away in the back of his memory for so long. He wasn’t even quite sure what the song was, something his teacher had made him learn for a recital ages ago, probably, but before he knew it, it was over and the only sound that remained was complete silence.

Enjolras didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he had to sharply intake his next one as the world spun a bit. He waited for Grantaire to say something—had he been awful? Had he messed up somehow?

But the silence continued, until Enjolras heard the faint sound of footsteps, turning just in time to see Grantaire slide onto the piano bench beside him, close enough that their legs were touching.

Not that it mattered.

Not that it  _ should  _ matter.

“I, um, play a bit as well,” Grantaire said, hands graceful and elegant as they landed on the keys. “No  _ Star Wars,  _ unfortunately, but. . .”

He played a few bars, and it was a tune Enjolras recognized. Smiling, he finished the next few notes, looking over at Grantaire, suddenly aware of how  _ close  _ they were.

Their hands brushed together on the next chord, and Enjolras had to look away, wondering when his heartbeat had become so loud; in his mind it had almost drowned out the piano.

A small  _ ding  _ interrupted his thoughts, and he paused for a moment, pulling out his phone.

It was a text notification.

_ Jehan: u almost here? _

_ Oh.  _ The party. The beers. The whole reason he was here in the first place . . .

Enjolras swiped away the notification.

“Do you have to head to your friend’s?” Grantaire asked, so close Enjolras felt his breath on his ear.

“That was them, actually . . .” Enjolras said, hardly hesitating before adding, “the party’s cancelled.”

“Oh,” Grantaire replied, and though he said, “I’m sorry,” right afterwards, he was biting back a smile. “Do you want to—” he started, just as Enjolras asked, “mind if I stay for a bit?”

“Not at all,” Grantaire replied. “Maybe we can figure out the  _ Star Wars  _ theme.”

Enjolras laughed, just as another notification popped up on his phone.

He didn’t even think before switching it off.

He wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed, but soon the sun had set completely and the only light was from a small lamp Grantaire had switched on before, casting his face in a glow that made him appear almost ethereal, accentuating the angles of his jaw and . . .

_ Fuck. _

Enjolras was staring again, wasn’t he?

He had to say something now, before it got too awkward— “it’s um. Wow. It’s late. I should head home.” There was a terrible sound as he pushed back the piano bench, making them both wince. 

“Sorry,” Enjolras said, looking down again.

“It’s okay,” Grantaire replied. “I’ll walk you to the door.” 

“You don’t have to, I know where it is,” Enjolras spoke quickly, then mentally kicked himself for what he’d said.

Thankfully, though, Grantaire either seemed to have not heard or ignored him, as he draped an arm across Enjolras’s shoulders, guiding him to the door.

“This was . . .really great,” Grantaire said as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, the cool night breeze ruffling his hair. “I know you needed the beers or whatever, but I’m glad you stayed.”

“Me too,” Enjolras replied, and he meant it. He smiled at Grantaire, sure he probably looked like a lovesick fool at this point. “Bye,” he added as he stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Wait—” Grantaire threw a hand out, bracing himself on the door.

“Hm?” Enjolras looked up.

“You have . . .” Grantaire reached up, and suddenly his fingers were running through Enjolras’s hair and he couldn’t remember how to  _ breathe;  _ God, he was going to  _ faint  _ or—

“Just something from your sweater, I think.” He showed Enjolras the small red piece of fuzz.

“Oh. Th-thank you.”

“Bye! See you in school tomorrow,” Grantaire said, moving his hand from the door and waving, as though nothing had happened, as though Enjolras hadn’t just nearly died on the spot.

“Yeah. See you.” Enjolras stammered, still barely coherent.

The door shut, and though Enjolras was sad to see him go, he was glad he couldn’t see the way he was smiling like an absolute idiot right now.

He looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Grantaire’s silhouette in the window. He was back by the piano, maybe playing again.

Enjolras hoped he was thinking about him as he did. 


End file.
